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look of Po^ttta 



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I'UIVATELY PKINTKI* lOR THE Al'THOR 

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%VASHINCiTON SQVARE PRESS, PHILADELPHIA 



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OOHYRIGHT, 1»1-* 
BV L.. I-. BIODI-E 



AUG 11 1914 



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Contents 



PAQS 

The River 7 

To One Beloved 11 

The Abandoned Homi; 12 

Memories IG 

At Dusk 18 

The Track Walker 21 

To A Wild Rose . .■ 24 

The Island of Forgetfulness 25 

To A Violet 27 

The Sea 28 

To One Away 32 

The Greek Islands 33 

The Scent of Roses 35 

To One Departed 36 

To Mount Ararat 39 

To the Four Winds 41 

At Parting 43 

Autumn 44 

To One Absent 47 

To One Who Sailed Away 48 

To A Loved One 50 

The Witching Hour 51 

The Taj Mahal 52 

The Difference 57 




Ki)t Briber 



IN some far distant spot, long ages since, 
A tiny stream of water, crystal clear, 
Was born of a blue mountain lake remote, 
Unknown to man, for man as yet was not; 
And from that time its placid bosom fair 
Has fed this infant stream and nurtured it. 
So rippling, swirling, babbling playfully, 
Not knowing and not caring what each curve 
Or bend may bring, it starts upon its way. 



And soon it meets a little brook, so small 
That scarcely does the stream increase in size 
When both together join and onward rush 
United in a course which leads again 



To other brooks and still to others. Thus 

Each one is lured ; the tiny stream now grows 

Into a tin}^ river, but as yet 

Unmindful of great power until it tries 

A fierce attack which rends the solid earth; 

Steep banks are cleft and channels deep are 

carved 
As by some Titan of gigantic strength. 

Each mile traversed brings still more brooks and 

streams, 
And all are wooed while every one becomes 
A pulsing vein of the great artery 
Which wooed and gets in turn from them its 

being. 
A mighty river now it is and one 
That brings, to those who live along the shores. 
Great crops, great harvests, riches, gladness, — 

yet 
At times, as though it teemed with pent-up rage, 
Full vent is given to all its latent power. 
Then, over-flowing banks, it devastates 
And bares the lands which but an hour ago 
Were blest instead of blighted by the flow. 
Relentless, without pity, boldly cruel, 
A mad death-dealing monster does it seem. 
Akin to horrid phantoms of our dreams. 



Would'st thou but speak so we poor mortals here 
Could understand, O river of all time, 
What wondrous tales thou could'st unfold to us; 
For thou hast seen huge mammoth beasts that 

came 
Before the human race began, to slake 
Their thirst along thy marge. A span of years — 
Then followed man primeval, gaunt, uncouth. 
Who lived in caves high up above thy banks 
And worked or killed with implements of stone. 
The bronze-skinned Indian thou hast also known. 
The white men and their many million sons. 
And coming down these ages, what strange craft 
Have floated on thy waters, borne along 
By wind or by thy current, sure as fate. 
Propelled by rough-hewn paddle, later on 
By wooden oars and finally by steam. 
Yes, thou art very wise. So are the rocks 
Which guard and keep their watch along thy 

shores ; 
But they are seared and gray with age, while 

thou 
Must know some fountain of eternal youth 
And steal of its pure waters for thine own, 
For thou art just as always, ever young. 

9 



Called by an ocean mightier e'en than thou, 
Roll on great river, roll resistless on! 
Those men who boasted here but yesterday 
At having chained an atom of thy power. 
Where are they gone to-day, of what avail 
To them who are no more? So, in disdain, 
Thou flowest on as for ten thousand years. 
As thou wilt flow until the end of time. 



10 



Zo 0m Pelobeb 



AS chill gray mists of early morn 
All vanish at the sun's caress, 
So flee my cares do I but see 
Thy loveliness. 

Yet fairest flowers, if deprived 
Of moisture or God-given dew, 
Must surely perish; likewise I 
If robbed of vou. 



11 



Wi)t ^banboneb Home 

APART, deserted, lonely now it stands, 
The one-time home of those who lived 
there for a space, 
Who heard the call of death, mayhap, or else of 

fate 
And went their sad ways to another place. 

The lichen-covered gate that bars a path 
Which leads up to the house beneath great 

hoary pines 
As though discouraging intruders who would 

pass 
Is held by twining branches of strong vines. 

Perchance their seeds were planted by fair hands 
Of one who died herself ere she could view these 

things 
For which she once had stooped and dug to give 

them birth; 
W^e all may sow, but fate our answer brings. 

I tear aside this verdant growing lock 
Yet, when I force my way, the tendrils which 
were rent 

1-2 



Stretch out like clutching fingers of a drowning 

man 
To scratch and cling as though in fierce dissent. 

I now approach the ivy-covered walls 

The porch enclosed in woodbine and my final 

goal; 
Upon the fragrant breeze are borne in scented 

waves 
Perfumes of flowers from which it took sweet toll. 



And glancing o'er the lawn I see these blooms 
Of lilac, violet and crimson garden rose 
That struggle to exist amid rank choking weeds 
Whose sure encroachment means their lives 
must close. 



The queer stale odor of a place long sealed 
Gives me unpleasant greeting when I force the 

door 
And pass at length beyond its threshold to a hall 
Which echoes as my footsteps cross the floor. 

Unusual sounds for this deserted house, 

They now intrude upon the silence of each room; 

13 



I hear some frightened mice rush off with scur- 

rj^ing feet, 
A bat, disturbed, flits by into the gloom. 



Beside a great wide open hearth I pause 

And picture in my mind how others took their 

stand 
Or sat on wintry nights before the cheerful 

blaze. 
What tales they would relate, what things were 

planned. 

A thousand eyes, no doubt, in by-gone years, 
Have gazed on this same hearth which also 

mine behold, 
Perchance some watched until the embers paled 

and died; 
How many of their fires are too grown cold? 



How many tiny beings first saw the light 

In these bare rooms explored when now I mount 

the stairs? 
How oft came death to claim those who awaiting 

lay 
Or those in slumber taken unawares? 

14 



I ponder o'er these things and all the while 

A low weird sobbing of the wind comes to my 

ears, 
Nay, — is it sighing of departed ones returned 
To view again their home of former years? 

I must nwsiy for light gives place to dusk, 
Already here within black night spreads out its 

pall, 
The sun slants long gray shadows down the 

Western hills 
As now I step from out the ghostly hall. 

A pale white moon appears and strikes its fires 
Then kindles to bright gold up in the Eastern 

sky; 
The same moon knew those dwelling in this 

house, — will know 
All those to come when gone are you and I. 

A little sad and sobered by such thoughts, 

I wend my way once more down through the 

flow'rs and trees; 
The gate is opened, closed; I leave this blighted 

spot 
To silence, to its ghosts and memories. 

15 







-\u 





iWemories 

How sad at times seem recollected words. 
Words that were murmured with our 
loved one's fleeting breath, 
And sad the memory of a last caress; 
Who is it calls thee kind, O death? 



IG 



How sad is just an empty little glove 

Which still retains the fragrance of a vanished 

hand, 
The haunting perfume of some favorite flower, 
The sudden end of things we planned. 

And ah how sad is music or a song 

Dear to those gone before, whose words and 

strains remind ; 
Echoes from lands of all that might have been, 
O death, I ne'er could call thee kind ! 



17 



THE calls of homing birds that seek their 
mates 
Are wafted on the twilight breeze to me 
Beside an open window whence I see 
The sun about to close its gleaming gates 
Of burnished gold. All over vale and hill 
With ghost-like stealth, the lengthening shadows 

creep, 
Enshrouding fields and trees in darkness deep; 
Each bright till palls of mystic nothing kill 
For them in turn the waning shimmering light. 
It seems as though grim night had hovered near 
And, passing by, just touched with sable wings, 
As with some magic wand, the rocks and things 
Which but a moment since were outlined clear 
Yet, even as I gaze, now disappear. 



So, those who know the joys of love and live 
Forgetful of what future years may bring, 
Must sometimes feel the cruel deadly sting 
Of griefs which strike and rarely warning give; 
But, like a shadow dark, they steal away 
The joyful brightness of our yesterday. 

18 



And now the fading light is almost spent 

While e'en the gentle zephyrs, whispering low 

Of far off scenes, then lower still as though 

O'er-burdened with the fragrant haunting scent 

Of flowers oft caressed near wood and bay, 

So drowsy grow, they cease to blow their lay. 

There follows silence pregnant, tense, profound, 

Yet — I could almost think I heard a sound 

As if the world had sighed, or else some fay 

By me unseen, when it too ceased from play. 

For at this witching hour and near such ground, 

We know these creatures of the wood abound. 

All nature seems to wait in hushed suspense 

While, for a moment brief, the stillness lasts; 

Then — could it be a thought of icy blasts 

Endured some winter time of cold intense. 

Or did there pass a spirit from the North, 

That caused the world to shiver as it went? 

For trees begin to quiver and are bent 

As by a hand unseen while, from henceforth. 

The air is chilled though fires of stars which 
morn 

In turn will quench, grow bright in darkening 

skies ; 
The wind comes sudden, strong; I realize 
A summer day has died, a night is born. 

19 



O dusk so gray, so sad and so suggestive 

Of what is past and what can never be, 

How stealthy thy approach, and thy departure 

How silent, weird and filled with mystery. 



20 



i;f)c Zmtk Walktv 

An Incident on the Road from Marseilles to Paris 

POOR helpless, bleeding mass of quivering 
flesh, 
A moment back this was a living man 
Who went upon his way to earn the wage 
Which helped support the family on the hill. 
What were his thoughts as all alone he strode 
Casting a watchful eye at rail or tie, 
Guarding the track entrusted to his care? 
Full well he knew that on his vigilance 
The lives of many travellers might depend, 
Yet, though he watched, I think his thoughts 

went back 
To what was in that house upon the hill. 

Now, with loud roar, a fast express bears down, 

' Tis 38, on time," reflects the man 
Then steps aside, and seven miles away 
Comes death. For it so happened this same day, 
Train number 38, the fast express, 
Was run in two divisions but that he 
W^ho guarded tracks, — queer vagary of fate. 
Had not been warned. "Look well poor plodder, 
look 

21 



At yonder rising sun, then look again; 
Long ere it sets a family on the hill 
Bereft will be of husband, father, thee, 
For thou art marked, thou art about to die." 



Now nearer, nearer rushes section two 

And, — death; the man has passed a curve which 

hides 
The road behind when, eastward bound, a freight 
Approaches causing him to step upon 
The western track; loud, rumbling, creaking 

wheels 
Prevent that he should hear a warning blast. 
Too late! Strong brakes grind down in frantic 

haste. 
Our train comes to a sudden, jarring stop 
While engineer and guard leap out to view 
The mangled thing that lies in huddled heap, 
Distorted pose, a hideous crumpled shape. 

My watch reads six o'clock and at that hour 
Most passengers are sleeping in their berths ; 
Some few of us, with horror stricken awe, 
Gaze out at those wide open staring eyes 
Which, though unseeing, seem almost as if 
They did oiu* gaze return. Again I say 

22 



Fate hath some strange decrees; this man has 

died 
A victim of the very thing he tried 
So bravelj'- to protect from wreck and harm. 

Near by, a peasant hurries up the road, 
Our guard shouts him instructions, jumps aboard, 
With sound of whistle now once more we move; 
But oh! the want this train leaves here behind, 
What sorrow for a home upon the hill ! 



23 





Wo a Wiiih Eo£fe 

BORN with the breath of wood nymphs 
fanning thee, 
Laved by the early morning dew, 
Thy shade of pink w as filched from eastern skies 
Just ere the sun appeared in view. 

As this sun rose, thy heart became pale gold, 
All day its warmth helped thee to grow%- 
At eve a drowsy brook lulls thee to rest, 
Thy slumber song the night winds blow. 

Wild rose we name thee while thou givest us 
Thy fair pink beauty and sweet scent, 
Or is this not the wood nymphs' fragrant breath 
Which fanned and made thee redolent? 



24 



W^i)t Mlmh of Jf orgetfulness 

r I iHERE is an island in a far off sea 
^ Which h'es, hke some rare emerald, in a 
blue 
As deep as that of sapphires. Yet, but few 
E'er reach this isle to anchor in the lea. 
Though many start, weighed down by misery. 
The skies o'er head are always wondrous fair, 
The spring is never ending and the flow'rs 
Fade not or die; the all too fleeting hours 
Are passed in bliss, each wholly free from care. 



'Tis called The Island of Forgetfulness; 

There dreams come true and what one most 

desires 
Is ne'er denied, but without fail transpires. 
All those who land and feel the soft caress 
Of winds that waft their welcome from the 

marge. 
Are charmed by some strange unseen power and 

soon 
Forget the past. Then God grants them the 

boon 
Of life just for the present, and in charge 
Of kindly fates who wipe away all tears. 

25 



And ah how few are those who, when they reach 
The much sought shores, are able to remain; 
Most stay a httle while and then again 
They sadly set their sails for lands where each 
Must tread once more the paths of grief and pain. 
Yet blest are all who rest e'en but a day 
In this retreat. For, as remembered dreams 
Oft-times refresh our waking thoughts, it seems 
The memories of glad hours of joy convey 
New strength to help us on our weary way. 



This island you and I may also know, 

Perchance to-morrow or in after years ; 

But we can surely find it if love steers 

Our seeking ship and we together go; 

Nor matters then how stormy winds may blow. 



26 




Ko a Violet 

TT^ROM what vast secret hidden source 
■^ Dost thou obtain thy wondrous dower 

Of perfume and fair lovehness, 
O httle purple flower? 

Thy beauty shames that of the rose 
While on thy virgin breast, at dawn, 
Gleam dew-drops,— Nay, they are the tears 
Of fairies long since gone. 

And in thy heart thou dost contain 
The scents of lands both East and AVest ; 
Mysterious combination rare. 
Yes, thou art very blest. 



27 



T TOW many secrets does this vast thing 

^ -*- keep, 

This thing men call the sea, and in its depths, 

How many of these men lie silently. 

The victims of a might they fought in vain? 



Great vessels boldly start to sail across 

Its waters, vessels boasting of their strength; 

Then strikes the tempest, hungry waves reach 

up; 
Where are those vessels, where this vaunted 

power? 
Some stagger to their ports in crippled shape. 
While others, after struggling for a while. 
Give up the fight with final frantic plunge. 
Slowly they sink at first but gather speed 
When now mad waters lap their topmost rails, 
Then down each slides with sullen muffled sound 
Drowned by the roar of gale and conquering 

sea. 
A few on board may manage to escape 
And bring home awesome tales for wondering 

ears, 

28 



Tales of sad, aimless drifting in small boats. 
Wild hunger, deadly thirst and hideous fears. 
The rest, — a helpless crew on helpless ships. 
Bound for strange ports unchartered and un- 

guessed, 
While through the shattered windows or the 

doors, 
Huge fish and loathsome slimy creatures pass 
Searching each corner, weird unwelcome guests. 



If wind and wave have failed to satisfy 
With victims for an ocean's greedy maw 
Perchance the ice receives its fell command; 
Floating almost submerged and hard to view, 
A fearful bulk which rends the stoutest plank. 
Or sight destroying fog through which men pass 
Yet cannot see and so run on dread rocks. 
Or sunken reefs which stretch forth waiting 

arms. 
Like clinging tentacles, and gather toll. 
Yes, many weapons does this vast thing know 
But deadliest, — those battered drifting hulks 
Abandoned by their crew, with decks awash. 
No lights to warn at night, — the derelicts. 
Grim vagary of fate that these ghost ships 
Already perished, should be left to give 
A death blow to those other ships which sail 

29 



Unconscious of this menace 'till it strikes. 
Creature of moods thou art, O mighty sea, 
With temper ruled by whence the winds may 

blow. 
If come fair breezes from thy Southern shores 
Reminding thee of tropic heat and calms, 
Quite lazily thou art content to drowse. 
When storms descend recalling gale-swept 

coasts, 
As though in sympathy thy bosom heaves 
And thou dost rise in wild tumultuous rage. 



Most things which hear thy call, the ships, the 

men, 
Small mountain streams that start on distant 

way 
Acquiring strength as other streams join in. 
And finally, great rivers, reach their goal; 
Most shall be lost in thy immensity. 
The rivers Avhen they cross thy bars, the ships, — 
Perchance their first day out should fate agree, 
Or mayhap some will sail until long years 
Have caused each plank to rot, so thou wilt get 
Just worthless bones. All men who do persist 
In tempting thy forbearance over long. 
These also dost thou claim as grim reward. 
Below thy surface, in thy silent deeps, 

30 



A weird and watery world without a sky, 
We know tall mountains, valleys, plains, exist 
Quite like those here above. And yet for us 
Who know thy ways, we picture in these deeps 
A land of gruesome harbors for dead ships. 
Of tombs for perished men, a land of ghosts. 
Mysterious gloom and everlasting night. 



31 



Ko 0nt ^toap 



HOW do I feel with thee away? 
Nay, — ask how feels the lonely dark- 
ening night 
Bereft of moon and stars, or else the day 
Should it be robbed of sun and light. 

Then ask how feels the dying rose 
Deprived of moisture, or some clinging vine 
Whose prop is filched, whose life draws to its 

close; 
Their answer surely would be mine. 



32 




LANDS of a mighty people long since dead, 
Inhabited today by those who live 
But through a glory which is not their own, 
Which comes to them by right of race alone. 
Thus do we see the once-famed Grecian Isles. 



Still not in vain is glory such as this 

For other nations came to find an art 

Whose grace and beauty brought to them delight; 

An art which left its mark adown the years 

With monuments of stone which it inspired. 



Great must have been the men and great the 

minds 
That could create such models or a type 
Which stood the test of ages and remain 
In splendor unsurpassed, by time unchanged; 
For to this day, in coimtries far and near, 
We find fair offspring of those mighty brains. 

Yet, if the spirits of the dead return 
To roam, perchance, mid scenes they knew in life, 
How grieved each one must be to view abodes 
Wherein they dwelt, wide open to the skies. 
Broad highways, marble paved, o'er which were 

wont 
To march triumphant legions coming back 
Victorious from some war, now rank with weeds. 
But paths for wandering goats, and everywhere 
The vandal's hand has pilfered or destroyed. 
Sad islands living only in the past! 
Sad islands filled with ghosts and memories! 
Look where we may, but ruin meets our gaze, 
Sheep stray at will among the crumbling walls 
While, most incongruous spectacle of all, 
A shepherd's hut where once a temple stood. 



34 





i;f)e ^cent of Eosieg 

As written letters, on a page that burns, 
Grow faint and fainter till some magic 
flame, 
Quite different from the others, makes each name 
Stand out distinct just ere the paper turns 
To pale gray ashes; so likewise with me 
When fades thy vision in my wearied brain 
And comes the scent of roses. For again. 
As if by magic, now, immediately 
The vision rises clear and sharp defined. 
Yet, to each dying word those flames renew 
Its life but for a moment while I view 
Thy face within my strengthened brain enshrined 
Long after fail these perfumes which remind. 

35 



^0 0nt ISeparteti 

IN some safe hidden drawer I laid away 
The pale blue flowers thou didst give to me 
When we two strolled, led by our destiny. 
Through shaded forest paths and thou didst say 
That thou did'st care for me. Oh happy day 
And oft remembered spot, where we both knew 
The ecstasy of love; how moments flew 
While death or pain far in the future lay! 



Mayhap these forest paths, in days gone by, 
W^ere visited by other women fair 
Who gave their flowers or a lock of hair 
As tokens of great love. Then, with a sigh. 
The men beside them, just as once did I, 
Received the tokens and, with tender care. 
Preserved them later on as things most rare. 



It may be also that, from time to time, 
These lovers, singly or together, came 
To know the smart of fleeting years or claim 
Of death; which meant that all their joys 

sublime 
Were past, and they could never more retrace 

36 



Glad footsteps through their flowered wooded 

path. 
And ah how very sad the aftermath 
For us who ran with death our losing race, 
The death of fond hopes cherished long ago 
Or of a loved one. So, when more and more 
We suffer, stealing to our hidden drawer, 
We gaze on faded pale blue flow'rs, e'en though 
They are but ghosts of yester-year, we know. 



And yet these flowers ever will retain 

Some subtle haunting perfume as of yore. 

So, in my drawers of memory, I store 

Dear but sad thoughts which help me live again 

Those days gone by, and w^hich, as with the 

flow'rs, 
Nor years nor death nor many suft'ering hours 
Can rob of all their fragrance, — or their pain. 



37 



Co Momt airarat 

T ^TITH hoary head iipHfted mid the clouds 
^ ^ Which wreath its furrowed brow and 
veil its face 
Or draw far off to show a mighty height 
Stands Ararat dividing three great lands. 



O great majestic mountain of all time 
Thou wast already old when came the ark 
To rest upon the loftiest of thy peaks, 
Safe refuge from a slow subsiding flood 
Though all known other things were still sub- 
merged. 
Towering above thy fellows, thou hast seen 
The human race begin and pygmy man 
Contending, fighting, planning down the years; 
Yet came grim death alike to slave and king 
While thou didst gaze with pity or disdain. 



Mother thou art of streams which have their 

birth 
In thy vast snow-girt flanks then hurry down 
To nourish mighty rivers in their turn 
And so bring gladness to a waiting world. 

39 



At Dawn thou dost behold the rising sun 
When we below can see but fading stars, 
And this sun, later sinking in the West, 
Caresses Avith last rays thine ice-crowned brow, 
Yet elsewhere hover shadows and gray dusk. 
Black night descends, then comes an Eastern 

moon. 
Thy slopes with molten silver now are bathed. 
Ethereal, shimmering in the pale weird light; 
All nature looks, all nature spell-bound seems. 



We men who live and die scarce comprehend 
Such beauty or thy great longevity; 
Unheeding storm and time, stand on supreme 
O rock of ages past, of years to come. 



40 



Wo tije Jfour Mints; 

/^~\ BALMY wind that comes from far off South- 

^-^ ern Seas, 

O fragrant wind that rests oft-times in placid 

leas 
Of islands corral-girt and steals their flower's 

scent, 
About clear waters blue and bluest firmament 
Thou hast a tale for us. Also of giant palms, 
Huge tropic ferns, white glare, moist heat and 

deadly calms. 



O Wind exhaling grief, East wind of mystery, 

All men shun thy embrace, while nature fear- 
fully 

Doth cower and despair till pass thy ghost-like 
wings. 

Dank reeking palls called fog, the breath of 
seas; it brings 

Great dread unto our hearts. These blinding 
mists provide 

A cloak for thy misdeeds which thou dost well 
to hide. 

And thou, great boisterous wind that rushes 
madly forth 

41 



From caves which gave thee birth far in the 

frozen North, 
Thou tellest us of lands whence come the snow 

and frost; 
Thou boastest of thy might and ships Hke 

feathers tossed 
Which thou didst hurl and wreck on reefs of 

ice-bound coasts. 
Too well we realize thine are not empty boasts. 

O healing, clearing breeze that comes from out 

the West, 
Of all the winds that blow, the world doth love 

thee best. 
New life to things which live and vigor dost 

thou bring, 
A message of good cheer, a promise of the spring; 
Dark lowering storm clouds yield and flee at 

thy caress. 
Yes, thou art ever kind, O wind of happiness. 



42 



^t parting 

T7^ ARE WELL! Ah drear sad word, thou 
-*- can'st but bring 

Long heart aches and an ending of the spring 
To those who love and yet must separate. 
Still, they have hopes of meeting soon again 
While treasured recollections lessen pain; 
The past is theirs; tomorrows they await. 

Yes, far more sad are those who say good-bye 

For always and who, hopeless, weep or sigh 

At thought of dear glad hours that come no 

more ; 
Of glances from loved eyes now dimmed by 

death, 
Of words low murmured with the fleeting breath. 
Oh thoughts which haunt and burn! Oh days 

of yore! 

And now when thou and I perforce must go 
By different paths, remember that although 
These paths may wind and lead our stej)s afar, 
They will unite again. Grieve not since thus 
We are so blest with mem'ries and for us 
The door of future years remains ajar. 

43 



lie 



Autumn 

After the First Frost 

A SPIRIT of the North has hovered near, 
First vanguard of great hosts which 
follow on 
Perchance today, perchance not yet awhile; 
But they have left the land of lasting snows 
And like grim fates are surely bound this way. 

44 



Already plants and trees have felt the breath 
That withers and destroys their verdant life; 
A seared and yellow leaf, a wilted bloom, 
A shade of brown where yesterday was green, 
These tell us that the Summer now is o'er, 
While Autumn drear and sad comes on apace. 



Henceforth all nature drowses and doth seek 
Some sheltered spot where it may lie and rest 
Through Winter days grown brief and lengthen- 
ing nights, 
In slumber deep which seems akin to death. 
The wind that whispered softly through the trees. 
Now comes in gusts and moans with ghost-like 

sound. 
As though it voiced a tale of snow and frost. 



Wild creatures both of forest and of field 
Heed well the warning that is given them. 
No longer do we hear an insect's drone, 
The booming sound of frogs or hum of bees; 
For they have found, each one, a hidden lair 
And in these dark retreats their silence keep. 
Look close and you will see the little squirrels 
Quite busy in a search for stores of nuts 
W'hich now they hoard away for future use. 
Instead of eating all as soon as found. 

45 



The birds of flight have heard the Southing call 
And wing their certain way to warmer climes. 
Whence comes the mystic call and how con- 

vejed, 
Just what directs that straight unerring flight, 
Is known to God, but not to j^ou and me. 



Ah! Strangely quiet is the wood to-day 
Since nature now has lain her down to rest. 
But we have faith this stillness cannot last, 
That at some future time when comes the spring, 
Warm conquering winds will blow from out the 

South 
And drive back to their frozen ice-bound shores. 
Chill spirits of the North which long held sway. 
Then birds will sing again, this forest gloom 
Will disappear as if by magic touch; 
The plants and trees will waken from their 

dreams. 
All living things that creep or move on wings. 
Each, — strengthened by its long life-giving sleep. 



46 



o 



FT-TIMES at saddest hour when breaks the 

pale gray dawn, 
I waken from my shimber and dear dreams of 

thee; 
All nature starts to rouse, my blinds aside are 

drawn. 
Yet enters not the light, the hour is dark for me. 

Too soon I realize that I am here alone 

While thou art left in lands where comes nor 

grief nor pain; 
No pleasures of this world can for thy loss atone, 
I fain must seek thee in the world of dreams 

again. 



47 




^0 0nt WBi)o ^ailcb ^toap 



H 



OW sinks the heart and fails 
o far 
ship 



When to far lands we watch depart some 



That bears one loved till, fading out, its sails 
Below the sky line dip. 

Then still we gaze and gaze 

Towards where their ship was swallowed in the 

main, 
Yet knowing well that for long weary days 
Our gazing must be vain. 



Most eyes are dimmed by tears. 
Some men weep not, but is their grief the less.^ 
For to each inner soul come nameless fears 
And ah! such loneliness. 

48 



O ship, swift blow the wind 
That wafts thee far, so earHer be thy start 
For havens here w ith one beloved to find 
The haven of a heart. 



49 



Ko a Xofaeb 0nt 

FAIR as the vision of a summer moon 
Reflected on the bosom of an inland sea 
Or of bright stars viewed near the edge of 

thunder clouds, 
Thou art so fair to me. 

Dear as the memories of days gone by, 

Days when I knew not pain or e'en a single tear, 

Of gladdest dreams and things most treasured 

in past years, 
To me thou art so dear. 

Sweet as the fragrance of wood violets 
That nestle in the moss beneath some forest tree 
Or of a full blown orchard visited at dusk, 
So sweet thou art to me. 



50 



TO those who stroll amid cool forests' gloom 
There comes at times the fragrance of 

some bloom 
Which grows unseen and hidden from all view 
Yet sends this perfumed message to the few 
Who happen near, and makes its presence 

known. 
Likewise, sometimes when I sit quite alone, 
A sudden feeling comes that thou art there 
Invisible yet close beside my chair. 



But when almost expectantly I turn, 

Both hands outstretched towards what I can 

discern 
Only with eyes tight closed, then instantly 
I realize that thou art fled from me 
As fragrance of those hidden blooms swift flees 
Before some vagrant dissipating breeze. 
Giving us but its memory to remind. 
Yet thy departing spirit leaves behind 
A subtle pledge, for I could almost swear 
There lingers on the fragrance of thy hair, 
More dear to me than scents of rarest flowers, 
A comfort in my dark and lonely hours. 

51 



i 




Ztt VLai jUaijal 



li^AR, far from here beyond all Western seas 
-^ I know a land where every passing breeze 
Wafts to me ancient lore and histories 
Voicing its tales through whisperings of the trees. 
Their leafy tongues respond to each caress 
Now murmuring low of rulers and their queens 
Who lived and saw and loved who died — ah yes, 
For death from kings a harvest also gleans. 
5i 



But when come tempests and wild storm winds 

blow. 
They moan strange tales of famine, plague or 

blight, 
Of secret murders, wars and wide-spread woe, 
For this is India whereof I write. 



In this far land there is a tomb so fair 
That those who view its wondrous loveliness 
Are held spell-bound, forgetting every care 
While grief and pain grow for the moment less. 
Built by the mighty Shah Jehan it stands 
Of love's great power convincing monument; 
Though of an age and living in those lands 
Where men took many wives, he was content 
With only one. But so adored was she 
That, when death claimed her, single he re- 
mained 
For all his days and in her memory 
Took oath that, ere his reign had waned. 
He would erect a tomb which should outlast 
In beauty and in perfect symmetry 
All tombs of years to come, of ages past. 



'Tis better to pass o'er the cruelty. 

The suffering endured by countless slaves 

Who for long weary months did toil and sweat, 

53 



Yes — even finding through this work their 

graves. 
The architect lest he should e'er beget 
Another wonder-child that might compare 
Was robbed of eyes. All this we must forget 
Since most great things to which the world falls 

heir 
Are consummated only when a debt 
Of pain or death or sorrow has been paid. 
Few men who wrought with pen and conquering 

sword 
Have traced more lastingly with ink or blade 
Upon tlie sands of time, their names record 
Than this frail woman whose distinction lay 
But through her being able to inspire 
A love which knew not how nor wished to stray 
E'en after perished was its heart's desire. 



Mid shrubbery and trees this fair tomb lies. 
Along an entering path white fountains play, 
A pearl set in the turquoise of rare skies 
And emeralds, thus it seems to one by day. 
Within, reign solemn stillness and grey gloom, 
Attendants, silent-footed, vigil keep 
And scatter o'er two graves the jasmine's bloom 
Where now a man and wife sleep their last sleep; 

54 



For after death, his wishes were obeyed, 
The Shah Jehan was laid beside his love. 
Upon request and if a trifle paid 
Some guardian chants soft notes; dim heights 

above 
Take up the sounds each depth re-echoing 
Till low sweet chords are filtered downward 

when, 
Like music of some heavenly choir, these ring 
Then die awav as dies a hushed amen. 



At dusk, most lovely is the tomb to me; 
White marble walls w^itli jjrecious stones inlaid 
Take on the tint of ancient ivory 
As the rich golden light begins to fade. 
A bit of carving o'er the Western door 
Appearing almost like some rare old lace, 
The sun still lingering as though it forei^ore 
To leave such an attractive resting place. 
More human now it seems and less apart 
As if a gentle mother who doth hark 
To her sad children with kind pitying heart. 
And now the sky is swiftly growing dark 
For twilight here lasts but a moment brief; 
Dim, dimmer still those fairy outlines show 
One hears the patter of some falling leaf 
Or just a near-by fountain's rhythmic flow. 
All else is wrapped in silence tense, profound, 

55 



More ghostly looms the tomb in this weird light 
x4s though some mist-like curtain fell around, 
A warning vanguard of approaching night. 
Then soon black darkness creeps out from its 

lair 
To stretch forth and envelop everything, 
A sudden chill pervades the evening air 
Yet long I sit there idly pondering 
On love, its wondrous joys, its bitter pain, 
Does all the bliss for its griefs compensate? 
E'en while I muse the blackness yields again, 
For now there comes a moon to dissipate 
The mists and lo! that white, pure sepulchre 
Gleams out once more ethereal, shimmering, 
A silent but convincing arbiter, 
An answer to my thoughts and questioning. 



56 



Zi)t MiUtvtmt 

T LISTEN to the words of some and yet 
■^ They make no more impression than a wind 
Which darts across still pools and leaves behind 
The surface ruffled where it stoops to wet 
Parched lips, then hurries swiftly on once more. 
Faint ripples mark each spot; they widen, wane 
And in a moment all is calm again, 
The pools more placid seeming than before. 

But mighty glaciers of an age long past 

That forced from mountain heights their certain 

way, 
Though vanished now themselves, on rocks, on 

clay, 
On everything which touched those borders vast 
Have deeply carved their record, lasting, clear. 
Yet not more deeply, not more lastingly 
Than now is carved upon my memory 
Each word that thou hast voiced for me to hear. 



57 



XIOT 













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